


Time Goes By and I Can't Control My Mind

by Jinmukang



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, But I did my best, Dami and Jason aren't in the first chapter, Gen, I just want to talk about all the crap done to Dick Grayson in canon, Panic Attacks, Probably not totally accurate to comics, Probably poorly done panic attacks, but they'll appear eventually, forever evil comics, reference to death of major character, starting with forever evil, supportive family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinmukang/pseuds/Jinmukang
Summary: "It isn't until Dick Grayson is back at the manor, enjoying every minute of his family when things go downhill.It wasn't gradual either. It was a sudden drop like he drove off a cliff or was standing at the gallows with the floor being whipped out from beneath him. He didn't see it coming and he couldn't prepare for the moment his body defies gravity and his stomach rises to his throat. His head floating and his knees shaking. Images flashing behind his eyes, ones that he can't focus on but clicks something in his brain that makes it so hard to breathe."





	1. Freak out

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on AO3?? I'm really not sure how this is going to go. Eff it. *Cracks knuckles* let's do this.

It's surprising that while in the thick of things, it never really hits you. It doesn't creep around the back of your mind, it doesn't linger in a strange feeling, it doesn't appear in a blink of an eye and disappear just a quick.

It isn't until you sit down and breathe and acknowledge that the worst of it is over when the _real_ worst of it begins. 

It isn't until Dick Grayson is back at the manor, enjoying every minute of his family when things go downhill. 

It wasn't gradual either. It was a sudden drop like he drove off a cliff or was standing on the gallows with the floor being whipped out from beneath him. He didn't see it coming and he couldn't prepare for the moment his body defies gravity and his stomach rises to his throat. His head floating and his knees shaking. Images flashing behind his eyes, ones that he can't focus on but clicks something in his brain that makes it so hard to breathe. 

But, it didn't happen right away.

At the beginning of the day, Dick couldn't be more happy. He was back visiting Gotham with Tim and Damian and Bruce in who knew how long. With Agent 37 and rebuilding his name back in Blüdhaven, he hadn't had much time to reconnect with his family. They were all busy in their own ways as well. The new Teen Titans, the new Gotham villains, new life shattering revelations. So on and so forth. Etcetera etcetera. But now all of that was over. Tim was alive, Damian was alive, Bruce was alive, Alfred was alive. Cass, Steph, and Jason, though not present at the manor for their reasons were still kicking. Dick was still breathing with his heart pumping and lungs expanding.

Alive. 

What a funny word.

It was Saturday evening in the late of December. The manor grounds was filled with dead grass, stiff from the persistent winter winds and weather. The sun refused to show the whole day and now that it was setting, the cold only got worse. The news forecast predicted snow for the next week, just in time for the holidays creeping up. Dick and Tim played video games together in the living room. Dick was never one to play much Call of Duty or Halo or whatever the kids were playing nowadays, therefore he was absolutely horrid at the game, but he was enjoying himself nonetheless. Tim was absolutely destroying everyone in their game (made Dick wonder how much free time he had) and just having a good time, which made Dick happy.

They don't know how the conversation came up. Or at least Dick certainly didn't. One moment they were shooting friendly banter back and forth between each others, and the next Tim was sitting quietly with his hands brought up to his face to hide his blushing.

"I don't know why you're so embarrassed. Kori is quite sexy." Dick asked with a smirk on his face. A player on the game killed Dick and that moment, but Dick didn't care because a much more interesting topic came up.

Tim groaned. "I don't have a crush on Starfire…" he whined. "I compare a cute girl to her once and… ugh…"

Dick set down the controller and leaned in further to Tim. "Hey, it's okay if you like her."

"Dick."

"I mean, it's not like I'm dating her anymore."

"Oh my gosh, stop."

"Like, if I can't have her as a wife, I may as well have her as a sister-in-law!"

"I'm going to murder you."

Dick chuckled and jumped up from the sofa he had been sitting on. "Why so aggressive? It's okay to have a crush on an alien warrior princess! I'm sure not even Bruce will blame you!"

Tim's eyes widened in horror. He stood up as well and got in a position that looked like he either wanted to bolt or attack. "Dick I swear-"

"I'll just call B up here and he'll tell ya!"

Dick ran to the door just as Tim swore and sprinted after him. Dick grabbed the door handle and swung open the door. "BRU-"

His call was cut off as Tim jumped on Dick's back and wrapped his hand over Dick's mouth. Normally, Dick would have laughed and licked the hand and then sprinted down the stairs with Tim swearing like an angry cat behind him, but the way his heart jumped and his stomach flipped caused something much different to happen.

It was so sudden. His brain stopped for a second before it became impossible to breathe. His heart pounded so loud in his ears and his muscles felt like they were replaced with ice. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't _BREATHE._

His eyes blinked and suddenly he was back there in that bomb. He couldn't move his limbs and he was so freaking cold. Batman and Catwoman were yelling about something, but he couldn't hear. He couldn't hear because his blood was pounding in his ears and something was forced in his mouth and a large hand that covered his mouth and nose was making it impossible to breathe. He tugged his limbs and struggled but it was impossible.

Oh God. He was going to die. He was going to suffocate. He couldn't move. He was so cold. He couldn't move. Breathe. Move. Die. _DIE._

Dick screamed and threw whatever was on his back off of him. He heard a pained "oof" come from whatever had been restraining him but he didn't care. He didn't care because his heart was so loud and his limbs were twigs caught in a hurricane. His knees were held up by strings and they were cut. He couldn't see straight and everything was swirling.

"OW," something… someone yelled. "DICK WHAT THE H- D-Dick? Dick what's wrong?

Dick snapped his head over towards the voice and in his blurry vision he vaguely recognized Tim. He was slowly standing up and looking scared. Dick stumbled backwards and his back hit the doorway. He barely even registered that it was painful to collapse like that against the doorway because he couldn't register anything besides how hard it was to breathe.

"Dick? Dick, oh my God, Dick-" Tim was rambling. He scrambled over to Dick and hovered his hands over him like he thought his own hands could break him.

"Cah-" Dick wheezed, "can't br-"

His cheeks felt warm and he realized with a growing sense of dread that he was crying. Tim looked close to tears too. 

"Oh God," Tim swore. "BRUCE! BRUCE HELP!"

Dick closed his eyes and everything became muffled. His hands were latched onto each other, nails digging into his skin. His lungs ached with a fire, but that couldn't be right because his ears were underwater.

With a shuttering chest, his consciousness began to float away. He was trying to catch it like one would scoop up water with a bucket of holes. He heard pounding footsteps, but they were so far away. He could feel large, strong hands grab onto his shoulders and cheeks, but they were far away too.

With a sob, he let the darkness consume him.

-o-o-o-o-

Depending on how one fell asleep, they could wake up in many different ways. Waking up after a full 8 hours of sleep would be much different from, say, a fun night at a party. Waking up hangover, Dick thought, was as bad as it got. 

How wrong he was.

This was like a hangover, but multiplied and so much sharper. His skull pounded and his skin crawled. His eyes felt glued shut and his ears felt like someone stuffed cotton all the way to his drums. 

He forced his eyes open and blinked so many times. The ceiling of his room was what met his sight, but it was blurry, whether because of wet eyes or tired one's, it didn't really make a difference.

His limbs felt heavy but he forced them to move anyways. He pushed himself up so he was leaning on his elbows. The covers of his bed slid off of his body, exposing his skin to the cold air. 

After much blinking, he became more aware. The event that transpired before he fell asleep hit him at full throttle. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, feeling like an idiot.

Voices just outside his door reached his ears. He could easily recognize the set-in-stone tone of Bruce, but there was also the angry voice of Tim. Dick groaned again. Not only did he freak, but he also freaked out in front of Tim.

"Dick _doesn't_ have panic attacks," Tim said like it was one of the most simple truths in the world. "Something caused this. Don't think I don't know that there's something you aren't telling us-"

Dick shook his head and shoved himself out his bed. He stumbled for a moment, but eventually caught his balance. He wasn't wearing a shirt and he was in a pair of sweats. 

"I know something happened when Dick faked his death. I know you and Dick don't want to talk about it, so I never confronted you on it. I want to know-"

Tim continued to rant. Dick heard nothing come from Bruce's mouth, which made him rethink that he even heard his voice a few seconds ago. He had to be there, because if he wasn't then Tim must have been talking to a wall.

But Tim didn't talk to walls.

_Just like Dick didn't have panic attacks._

He sighed and walked over to his door. Tim was in the middle of demanding answers when Dick opened it.

There stood Tim and Bruce. Thankfully Tim wasn't actually talking to a wall, which meant only one of them had finally snapped. Tim quieted down immediately and Bruce turned from his second youngest and to his oldest.

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked just as Tim started to stress that Dick shouldn't be out of bed.

"Yeah," Dick said. Or tried to. His voice got caught up in phlegm. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Peachy."

"What was that? Dick what happened?" Tim demanded. Dick looked over at him and cringed at the wetness of Tim's eyes. 

"Nothing, I'm fine," Dick insisted.

Tim narrowed his eyes, and as did Bruce.

"Tim, go do your homework," Bruce said. Tim sputtered about it being Christmas break, but Bruce ignored him and gently laid a strong hand on Dick's shoulder. "I need to speak with Dick, alone."

Dick let himself get dragged into his room.

"Bruce I want to know what's going on," Tim complained. Dick gave Tim an apologetic glance as the door closed and locked behind he and Bruce.

Dick walked back to his bed and Bruce sat down besides him. 

"What happened," Bruce asked. Or more like demanded. Honestly, Dick was surprised he didn't just say 'Nightwing, report'. Would have had the same amount of emotion.

"Nothing happened," Dick said stubbornly because he _didn't_ have panic attacks. "Must have been some stubborn left over fear toxin or-"

"Dick, Scarecrow is still in Arkham."

"Dammit, Bruce," Dick suddenly shouted. "Nothing happened. It was one freak out. I'm fine. Won't happen again. Sorry to scare you guys."

"Dick."

"Let's just forget it happened and move on with our lives. One freak out. Every single goddamned thing is fine. _God,_ it feels like there's a dwarf in my head that thinks there's gold on the other side of my skull…" Dick's fingers wound themselves in his hair and he leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. He shut his eyes tight and took deep breaths. 

Bruce was silent for a moment before he slowly put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Do you need an Advil?"

"Yes," Dick said without any hesitation, "heavens above, yes. I need the whole bottle yesterday, I need-" _the taste of a white powdery pill dissolving on his tongue and running down his throat, the hand on his mouth and nose, preventing him from spitting out, preventing him from breathing, he couldn't MOVE he couldn't BREATHE he couldn't-_

"Dick, breathe!" 

Bruce's voice. He blinked and looked wildly around his room, taking gulping breaths of air. Bruce's hand rubbed up and down his arm and his free one was snapping in front of his face. Bruce seemed to realize that Dick was back to himself, so he moved Dick so he was leaning back against his side. His arms wrapped around Dick and held him there.

Dick briefly wondered if he should be freaking out at the restraining hold Bruce had on him, but it felt safe, nothing like the cold metal that wrapped around his hands and waist and shoulders and he couldn't move…

"Breathe, Dick, come on Chum."

Bruce was taking deep breaths. His stomach inflated and deflated against Dick's back. Dick forced himself to match the steady breathing. 

It took five long minutes for Dick to calm down. There was still a lingering taste of anxiety in the air and his fingers and toes tingle with pins and needles, but all in all he was back to reality. Back to here and now.

"N-nevermind," Dick whispered, "no… no Advil."

He tried to say it with a smile. As a joke. Bruce didn't seem to appreciate it. "Tell me the truth now."

And the smile, no matter how fake it was, fell. Dick shoved himself away from Bruce. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come over this early."

"Dick."

"Blüdhaven can hardly last one night without me. Why'd I think it could last two weeks?" He stood up and walked over to his duffle bag where he had his Nightwing suit packed in.

"Dick, if you think I'm going to let you walk out of this then you forgot who I am. Sit down."

Dick sighed and slumped back down onto his bed. Something wet ran down his cheeks, but the tears hardly phased him. "Why this?" Dick asked. 

Bruce was silent. Dick didn't know if he was thankful or not for that.

"I mean, first year of Robin and I was made a pinata by Two-Face. Since then I've been shot, stabbed, drowned. I've been tortured and burned and poisoned and mauled. What happened with Crime Syndicate is nothing compared to spending thirty minutes with the Joker. Nothing to- to the Owls. N-nothing-"

Sobs tore through his throat and suddenly Bruce was holding him against his chest. Dick's hands wound themselves in Bruce's shirts and he pressed his face against the material and let his tears—and a bit of snot and saliva that neither of them would ever mention—stain. He was rocking gently back and forth but not shushing, so Dick took it as an opportunity to continue.

"And it- it happened s-so long ago! I've... I've been suffocated since then, you know? I've been- been restrained too. I've ta-taken pills. Hasn't affected -me till now."

"Trauma works in many ways," Bruce said. His voice vibrated in his chest. It was comforting in a strange way.

"I'm not traumatized, B," Dick insisted. "Jay is traumatized. Tim and Dami are traumatized. I'm- I am the one who's supposed to bounce back no matter what. Doesn't matter what way you push me I'll swing back. I don't get traumatized. I don't get stuck. I don't have panic attacks."

"Dick, are you saying that you don't deserve to be effected like this? That what you've been through isn't enough for you to be allowed to hurt?"

"They've _died_ , Bruce."

"So did you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'was that okay? I did my best.


	2. 01010100 01001001 01001101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg thanks for all the responses?? I was really worried I fluffed up the severity of panic attacks and I didn't do them the correct justice. I promise I'm trying to be respectful and I'm researching them to the best of my abilities.
> 
> I just hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint.
> 
> Enjoy.

Computers were both the most simple and complex thing in the entire universe. It was essential to modern culture, holding millions if not billions of websites, programs, documents, apps, and so much more that people used every day without even thinking about it. To a beginner, yeah, they sounded like voodoo. Programers were regarded as geeky warlocks that understood a language that _no_ one understood.  
  
But Tim understood it. Because it was simple. It all came down to two things. A one and a zero.  
  
All because of two little numbers humans can accomplish anything. They can write stories, share opinions, build buildings, design clothing. Computers can remember things download into them long after the human mind had already forgotten about it.  
  
That was probably why Batman kept everything on a computer. Because computers made sense when humans did not.  
  
That's also why Tim was currently sitting at the Batcomputer. Something wasn't making sense. If Dick were a computer, one of his ones must have been switched with a zero. There was a glitch and it was wrong, and Tim knew the only way to fix it was to find what switched the two numbers in the first place.  
  
The computer he sat at now was the most powerful and dangerous in the whole world. It held everyone's secret and every detail about everything since Batman first put on the suit. If one were to hack into the machine, not only would they get every detail of who the Batfam really were, but names like Clark Kent, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, and everyone close to them would pop up. They could find out about Penguins parents, or Calendar Man's "tragic" backstory. The computer was the physical representation of blackmail.  
  
But at the moment, Tim didn't want to study more of Catwoman's shopping habits or the design of the Flash's ring. He wanted to go back in time to when evil versions of the Justice League invaded this world, kidnapped Dick, and almost destroyed the sun.  
  
The difficult thing about the computer though was that it was exactly how Batman wanted it. It was open to the files he wanted you to see and it was almost impossible to go anywhere else. It was a maze only Bruce knew. The digital version of his own brain. Because of this, Tim couldn't just scroll over to a search bar and type "Crime Syndicate" or "What _actually_ happened to Nightwing when the CS kidnapped him?".  
  
That would be like walking up to Bruce and _asking_ him.  
  
Tim already knew how well that would work.  
  
So he resorted to digging around. Granted it would take time to find what he was looking for (the batcomputer was the only computer in the world Tim struggled with hacking—didn't mean he couldn't do it, though).  
  
Eventually, Tim discovered he was on the right track. Even though the computer was an organized _mess_ , it was still organized.  
  
Another thing about the computer: It was like Bruce in another way. It would give you a look saying "back off, this is dangerous territory, you're trespassing."

Well, more like a pop-up notification that said "WARNING, CLASSIFIED, TURN AWAY NOW TIM."  
  
"Shit," Tim whispered. He leaned back in the big man's chair and glared at the flashing notification. Curse Bruce and him knowing exactly what Tim would do. Curse him.  
  
"What are you doing, Drake?"  
  
Tim sighed and turned his head just for a second to look at Damian. "What are _you_ doing?"  
  
"Training. Your turn." Damian walked up to stand besides Tim. "What's this?"  
  
Tim stared at him for a second. He must have been in the Batcave when Dick panicked. Gosh, he didn't even think of what Damian was up to during the whole fiasco. "Damian… something is wrong with Dick," he said slowly.  
  
It wasn't hard not to notice the way Damian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Talk."  
  
It were moments like these that Tim really saw Bruce in Damian. Both had that hardened steel in their voices and the just as strong resolve to bring anyone who hurt Dick Grayson down to the minimum amount of "unharmed" to just barely be considered alive.  
  
Tim sighed and glared at the screen. "He had a panic attack."  
  
"Grayson doesn't get panic attacks."  
  
Tim mentally scoffed. They should put that on a banner and march with it in the next Thanksgiving Parade.  
  
"Well, things change, I guess," he said angrily.  
  
For a few moments, the only sound in the cave were the stirring bats. The flashing notification glared at Tim. Behind it were secrets only Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne knew.  
  
He heard the sound of soft retreating footsteps behind him. He turned around to see Damian walking away with a stiff posture. "Where are you going?"  
  
Damian stopped in his tracks. "I'm going to check on Grayson."  
  
"Don't you want to know what happened?"  
  
Damian stood still for a second before his ever famous "tt" sounded and he walked away. As if h already knew they wouldn't be told anything.  
  
Tim spun around back to the screen and scowled. It wasn't fair. Dick was always there for the rest of the family, but now that it was his turn to hurt they were all kept in the dark. Told to let Bruce handle it.  
  
Yet at the same time, he didn't want to really dig that much deeper into it. The notification was warning enough that Dick wasn't just panicking over a traumatic experience, it was something gravely serious. Tim had ran into this notification before, not because he was searching out for it but because it was related somehow to what he had been originally researching, and it meant nothing good.  
  
Reasoning being that the last time he ran into this was when it was blocking him from cowl footage of Jason Todd's death.  
  
He backed off right away then. He knew it might have taken all of Batman's willpower not to just delete the footage, and he also didn't feel the need to see what he already knew happened. He didn't think he would have the stomach for it either. So what he did was back off and return to what he had been originally looking at. Bruce probably knew that Tim had come that close to something that private, but neither of them mentioned it.  
  
The only sign of Bruce acknowledging Tim's accidental stumble on the footage was the notification now which had Tim's name added to the warning.  
  
Tim had a feeling that Bruce wouldn't be so lenient if Tim continued onward now. That, combined with the feeling of dread that this was put on the same level as Jason Todd's death, scared Tim.  
  
Suddenly, the voice of Alfred sounded. By the sound of it, Alfred was at the top of the stairs leading to the cave. “Master Timothy?”

  
Tim quickly exited all of the files he had open on the computer and erased all trace of him being there to the best of his ability.  
  
"Master Timothy, it is time for dinner. May I suggest you head up here instead of me coming down to fetch you?"  
  
"Yeah, I'll be up!"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Tim jumped from the big man's chair and started to head up to the mansion with a strange feeling in his gut. He desperately wanted to find out what really happened to Dick. He had always known that something was off with Dick since he came back from pretending to be dead—he always went a bit stiff whenever the Crime Syndicate was mentioned—but at the same time, Tim was a little afraid to find out. After all, it was traumatizing enough to give the man known for never panicking, well, a panic attack.  
  
Tim finally came through the door in the grandfather clock and smiled at Alfred. "I'm here. How's Dick?"  
  
"As fine as he can be. Be sure to clean up before Dinner, and put on presentable clothing. We have company that will arrive in a few hours," Alfred said as they both began to walk out of the library.  
  
"Really? Who?" Tim didn't think Bruce would invite anyone over that night, especially after Dick's episode. Heck, Batman might not even go out.  
  
"Miss Thompkins."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Of course. The lovely Leslie Thompkins. The only acceptable company with situations this serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damian was introduced and there was some Tim POV. Nice huh?
> 
> Also, Alfred is so hard to write??????


	3. I'm Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a couple days. Work got long and this chapter kept getting _longer_.
> 
> Note: I'm not a doctor, I'm just a young retail store associate who does her best to research things. Just because a character I write (Leslie) is a doctor, doesn't mean I actually know everything she's talking about. I'm honestly trying my best to research panic disorders and related topics to the best of my ability. I apologise in advance if I get some things wrong.
> 
> Also, don't take medical advice in fan fiction at face value. Go to a real doctor.
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be in Dick's perspective, but then Bruce came in and slammed my face into my keyboard. So, I really hope I got his personality right...
> 
> EDIT: I forgot Dick told Bruce about what was the source of his attacks in the first chapter, so I quickly changed a few sentences. Oops.

" _I'm fine, Bruce_ ."  
  
Bruce gave him a narrowed look because he knew Dick wasn't fine. He could see it in the way Dick clutched at his arms and tugged at the hem of his shirt every so often. He looked so uncomfortable, which would be impossible because Dick Grayson was never uncomfortable while in his own skin.  
  
Now it just looked like he wanted to crawl away and distance himself from the new challenges that faced him. Something he would never had done before.  
  
"You didn't have to call Leslie. This was a one time thing a-and she's going to tell you the same thing," Dick continued.  
  
Bruce hummed in a disbelieving sort of way. Dick had just spent the past fifteen minutes sobbing into Bruce's shirt, had just spent five more minutes getting cleaned up for dinner with the _help_ of Bruce. Presently, he was walking on shaky legs down the long hallways of the manor—Bruce was worried he'd have to help him down the stairs. He looked like he would either fall asleep right there or jump out of his skin with the slightest of provoking.  
  
And he stuttered. The only times Dick had ever stuttered was when he was injured, or extremely emotional.  
  
But at the moment, Bruce didn't feel the need to remind Dick of the last thirty minutes. Dick already knew that something was wrong. Dick was always so aware of himself, which made the only problem to be trying to get him to admit it. Dick had a temper, he had a habit of smiling and laughing one moment, but when something happens that he doesn't agree with he could snap like a wild dog. Bruce didn't want to get Dick in a bad mood for Leslie, so instead he tried another approach.  
  
"I didn't call Leslie for that, Dick," he said. Dick gave him an unbelieving glare. "I called her because you have a decent sized goose egg at the back of your skull."  
  
"I do?"  
  
He did. Bruce found it while he was undressing his unconscious son into more comfortable clothes after the fist attack. At the time, it both relieved and intensified the stabbing feeling in his gut. He knew it was rare for people to pass out during a panic attack. To faint, ones blood pressure would have to go down. During attacks, blood pressure went up. The only way for one to pass out was for them to have some sort of other force that makes the blood pressure drop more that rise.  
  
A good bonk on the head could do that.  
  
But now Dick could have a concussion. Hence why the need to have Leslie head over became much more important.  
  
"Tim said you fell back against the doorway during the first… attack." It was very hard to choose his words careful enough to not anger Dick. Dick had his lips twisted, thankfully in thought not in anger. "The theory is you hit your head on it. That's the biggest reason I called her. You passed out and stayed asleep for a worrying amount of time. We just need to make sure you don't have a major concussion."  
  
Dick narrowed his eyes. "Biggest?"  
  
Bruce thought a word that if he had said it out loud, Alfred would probably knock him over the head with the swear jar. "Dick."  
  
"So you still do want her to check if I'm crazy or not?" Dick growled as he stopped in his tracks and glared at Bruce.  
  
Bruce could barely contain an exhausted sigh as he came to a stop and met Dick's eyes. "No, Dick, I do not want to check if you're _crazy. Panic_ disorders are _not_ -"  
  
Dick snarled and began to shakily walk away. "Whatever. I don't care."  
  
Clearly Dick did, but Bruce didn't didn't want to aggravate him worse. He walked so he was besides Dick again. "Dick, I know you're frustrated and scared," he chose to ignore Dick's growl, "but I will not tolerate you treating Leslie any less like a lady than what she deserves. I recommend you get your temper under control and have some dinner with the family."  
  
Dick took a few deep breaths and tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Fine. Fine, o-okay."  
  
Bruce gave a brief smile and rubbed Dick's shoulder. "C'mon, Chum."  
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
Bruce left Dick in the dining room to cool off with a cup of tea before his two other sons arrived. Or that was the excuse he gave Dick. In reality, he felt the need to find Tim and Damian and have a talk with them before dinner started.  
  
Damian probably didn't even know what happened yet, and Bruce would hate for him to find out from anyone's mouth other then his own. He'd need to sit Damian down and quickly explain that Dick was in a rough place at the moment and needed a bit more care towards his emotions and well being.  
  
And if Damian somehow already knew, like Bruce suspended, the kid would need explaining that Dick wasn't in any danger. Needed comforting that his Batman would be okay.  
  
Tim... Tim needed something to focus on other than finding out what happened to Dick. Chances were he already went down to the computer to try and find out what could have possibly caused Dick to panic. Thankfully, Bruce knew that the answer, while on the computer, had the best protection. It would take hours, not thirty minutes even with Tim's skill, to get to the cowl footage.  
  
He also probably needed assurance that the first attack wasn't Tim's fault.  
  
Thankfully, Damian wasn't too hard to find. All Bruce had to do was walk out of the dining room and approach the staircase. Right as he turned around a corner, he saw the figure of the young boy creeping up the stairs at an unsure snail's pace. Bruce watched Damian cautiously take a couple steps. He noticed that Damian had a conflicted look on his face, like he was scared of what he would find when he reached wherever he was going.  
  
Bruce silently sighed. So Damian did know.  
  
"Damian," he called.  
  
Damian startled in the middle of his step and almost tripped down the stairs. Once he had balanced himself, Bruce couldn't help but notice how red his ears were. Clearly, Damian had no clue Bruce had been there and was extremely embarrassed about it.  
  
Damian took just a millisecond, probably even shorter, to compose himself before he turned from here he was standing to face Bruce. "Father?"  
  
His face was like stone, no one but Dick and sometimes Bruce could see what's going on behind his eyes. Thankfully, this was one of those times Bruce could see the chaos swirling in the boy's mind. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
Bruce studied Damian. If Bruce was anyone else, he might have believed Damian. But he could see the way Damian's limbs tensed on their own before they were forced to relax. He could see how Damian tapped his big toe softly but quickly, like he really would rather be somewhere else.  
  
Bruce sighed. "Dick is okay, you know."  
  
"Oh," Damian said. He swallowed and took a step down the staircase. He cleared his throat. "Where is Grayson?'  
  
"In the dining room."  
  
Damian nodded. "Good. I'll just go and get changed before I join him." He turned around again and began to climb up the staircase once again, but this time more sure of his step and a bit more quickly.  
  
Before Damian could get all the way to the top, Bruce called out before he could second think. "Are you sure you are alright?"  
  
Damian stopped just for a blink of an eye. "I said I'm fine," he growled before he walked away.  
  
Bruce sighed and wished he could handle and read Damian as well as Dick could. His own son was a mystery to him.  
  
He was about to turn and go out to find Tim before he noticed a black cat walk at the top of the staircase. Alfred the Cat gave Bruce a meaningful look before he stalked after Damian.  
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
When Bruce checked the Batcave he was not surprised to find it empty. Granted, he had hoped to had ran into Tim down in the cave, stuck in the middle of hacking into the files he shouldn't—it would be easier to deter him from sticking his nose into unnecessary and private information if he were caught red handed—but it was dinner time and Alfred was usually on top of grabbing the kids.  
  
So Bruce didn't see Tim until the whole family—well, just those actually present at the manor, Cass wouldn't be around until Christmas Eve and Jason was still dodging the whole issue but Bruce was sure Dick (or Alfred if Dick couldn't) would eventually convince (read "force") him into coming for at least Christmas dinner—sat at the dining table. Food had been placed in front of each member, of whom quietly ate with the only noise being Alfred cleaning up the kitchen and various clinking utensils.  
  
A persistent knot in Bruce's stomach tightened as the quietness at the table. On any normal day, Dick would be chatting up a storm with each of his siblings as he waved around his fork, his food going mostly uneaten unless someone remind him that it was there. Tim would be laughing along to each thing Dick said, adding in his own banter from time to time. It was common for Tim to choke on his food from giggling too hard. Damian would be rolling his eyes and chewing his food with an uninterested look on his face, except everyone knew he was paying attention to what his family were talking about because sometimes he'd throw in his opinion or an annoyed grunt as he reached down and fed Titus some of his own dinner.  
  
Bruce would not usually talk at dinner, but he would listen and watch with an easy going feeling in his chest. Eating dinner was a thing normal families did, and chatting and joking during it was a normal thing too. His heart would always sore when Damian smiled, or when Tim had to leave the dining room crying from laughing too hard, or when Dick wore that smug look on his face as he stuffed food in his mouth when he knew he had made a hilarious comment. When Jason, or Cass, or Barbara, or Steph, or Duke were over, the sound of chatter conquered over the sound of plates and knives. The aching in their cheeks from smiling overpowered the fullness of their stomachs. The feeling of normalcy and family became more present when compared to satisfaction of a good meal.  
  
Tonight there was none of that.  
  
Looking across the table, Bruce could see Dick leaning on his hand, elbows on the table which Alfred had given up on scolding him for, as he picked at the steamed carrots and remains of lasagna on his plate with an uninterested expression. Every so often Bruce would note that he would reach down and fix his shirt. Sometimes he'd look up from his plate and open his mouth as if to say something, but then he'd immediately close it and look back to his food with an angry twist to his lips. His fingers constantly tapped on his chin.  
  
Tim didn't even bother to look interested in his meal. He slouched back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest as he glared at his plate like it personally offended him. He only made movement when Alfred walked by, but it was just a fake smile and a "yes, it tastes good, Alfred," even though he hadn't taken a single bite. Not once did Tim's eyes roam anywhere other than the table.  
  
Damian was clearly trying to look normal. Multiple times he would put on a determined face and look towards Dick, but then he'd shut down and get back to eating when Dick wouldn't even look at him. Then, Damian would get a thoughtful look on his face as he ate his food, so thoughtful that sometimes Titus would be forgotten until he whined and reminded Damian of his presence.  
  
It was the furthest thing from a normal family dinner between them all.  
  
His family was the furthest thing from fine.  
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
After the uncomfortably quiet dinner, Bruce never got the chance to corner Tim, because just as Alfred reached across Bruce to pick up his dinner plate (his regrettably almost untouched plate… hardly anyone left the table with much in their stomachs. Titus most likely ate more of Damian's food than Damian himself), the doorbell sounded throughout the house.  
  
Had it always been that loud?  
  
"That must be Leslie," Bruce said. He cleared his throat and stood up from the table. Damian gave a quick glare in the general direction of the door and Tim scoffed and shoved himself away from the table. Bruce watched him leave before he switched his gaze towards Dick.  
  
Dick looked like he was going to vomit.  
  
"Go to the library, Leslie and I will be there shortly."  
  
Dick nodded and folded his arms around his stomach as he stood up. His fingers wound themselves in the material as he walked off. Bruce gave Alfred a meaningful look.  
  
Alfred cleared his throat. "Master Damian, I believe Master Titus will be needing to go outside," he said.  
  
Bruce began to walk towards the door as Alfred and Damian walked off towards the back door of the manor. Alfred the Cat darted between Bruce's legs and jumped onto Damian's shoulder and Damian gave it a grateful scratch on the ear.  
  
Bruce finally made it to the front door and opened it. Leslie looked up. "Alf- oh, good evening Bruce."  
  
"I thought I'd fetch you myself today, please come in."  
  
Leslie nodded and walked in past Bruce as he shut the door behind them. "It's a very cold night tonight," Leslie started as she shrugged off her off-white nylon jacket, "it's strange it hasn't snowed yet, but it's definitely cold enough to-"  
  
"Leslie, I was hoping to talk to you before we go to Dick."  
  
Leslie paused hallway from taking off a pair of fluffy purple earmuffs, as if she was reconsidering if she should actually listen to anything Bruce had to say or if she should press them harder to her ears. Her eyes narrowed and she took the muffs off her ears completely and stuffed them in her purse. She it down next to her medical bag.  
  
"Dick didn't just hit his head, did he?"  
  
Bruce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He hit his head during a panic attack."  
  
"Dick had a panic attack!? Is he okay?"  
  
Bruce opened his mouth but Leslie continued on.  
  
"Wait, no, Bruce, you _know_ I'm not that kind of doctor."  
  
"I do know, Leslie, I just need advice."  
  
"I can recommend you to-"  
  
"Dick refuses to get a check up on it. He was angry enough when I called you over. He barely even accepts that he had an attack in the first place."  
  
"What do you expect me to do?" Leslie said with an unimpressed frown. She crossed her arms over her chest and stood like she was scolding Bruce. "I work at a free clinic, Bruce. I treat burns and colds, not panic disorders. You need to see a psychiatrist or look into psychotherapy."  
  
"Just," Bruce sighed and rubbed his hand over his chin that was covered in a five o'clock shadow, "just tell me a temporary way to fix this. How I can calm him down. Are there any over-the-counter-"  
  
"Bruce?"  
  
Both Bruce and Leslie turned from where they stood, stiff in the front room of the manor, to see Dick. Bruce mentally noted how stressed and tired Dick looked.  
  
"You guys are taking your time," Dick continued as his hands wrung the hem of his shirt once again. Bruce was worried that soon enough the shirt would be stretched and damaged if Dick's new nervous habit continued.  
  
Leslie gave Dick a stern look. "Why are you walking around? I swear, I come because you're all worried you have a concussion, but you walking around like nothing happened. You bats, I swear-"  
  
Leslie continued to rant under her breath as she walked over to Dick and put her hand on his shoulder and began to lead him away towards the nearest chair. She turned briefly to glare at Bruce and mouth "phycologist".  
  
Bruce sighed and followed along.  
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
In a manner of a couple minutes, Leslie determined that Dick didn't have too bad of a concussion, just one persistent enough to give him some dizziness and nausea for a week or two. She shooed Dick off to bed to get some sleep and next thing that either of them knew, both Bruce and Leslie were back at the front door. Only this time Leslie was sticking her limbs back into her coat and digging through her purse for her earmuffs.  
  
"Dick's not usually that stressed out," she commented lightly.  
  
Bruce nodded. "It's been steadily getting worse since the second attack."  
  
"Second?"  
  
Bruce grunted. "First one was when he hit his head. The second one was a little while after. It wasn't as intense."  
  
"What kind of attacks?"  
  
"Triggering ones. I'm not sure what triggered the first one, it might have been when Tim jumped on him."  
  
"I'm not even going to ask why Tim jumped him."  
  
"The second time," Bruce continued, "was because I suggested he take an Advil. He won't talk about why he's having the attacks, so I can only assume it has to do with something that happened while he was in suit."  
  
He knew it had to do with the suit. But Leslie didn't really need to know what happened.  
  
"So, something more along the lines of PTSD than a normal panic disorder?"  
  
"I think. I'm not sure yet because he won't talk." Yes. Hopefully something bordering PTSD. Bruce knew more about dealing with a source than the seemingly random.  
  
Leslie hefted her purse onto her shoulder and wore a thoughtful expression, like she knew Bruce wasn't exactly telling the truth but she was too tired to wring it out of him.  
  
"Bruce, it's not good to let him ignore this. Get him help. If it has to do with his night time activities, the most I can do is recommend a psychiatrist or a therapist that I trust. But no matter what's triggering him, _get_ him help."  
  
Bruce opened the front door for Leslie. "Let's hope this doesn't get to that point."  
  
Leslie stopped in the middle of walking out. "Don't you ignored this either, Bruce. Don't do to Dick what you did to Jason."  
  
Bruce clutched the door handle just a bit harder and tried not to growl.  
  
"He needs someone who will be a father, not a boss," Leslie continued. She walked past Bruce and began her decent down the manor's front steps. "That's all."  
  
Bruce took a deep breath. "Have a safe trip home, Leslie. Thank you."  
  
"Yeah, yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that okay???????
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments!!!!!!
> 
> One of you figured out where the title of the story came from which is hilarious to me. For such a thought out story my title was just picked out of an Ariana Grande song. It may change, but I like it and I won't apologise for loving Breathin' or for getting the idea of this story while listening to aforementioned song.
> 
> HAPPY ASEXUAL AWARENESS WEEK TO ANY ACE-SPEC READERS. YOU ARE VALID NO MATTER YOUR ROMANTIC PREFERENCES. KEEP GOING STRONG GUYS AND GALS AND NON-BINARY PALS. (I think I just quoted Thomas Sanders?????)
> 
> Till next time~

**Author's Note:**

> T'was that okay? I did my best.


End file.
